


Ardent

by VampireNaomi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi/pseuds/VampireNaomi
Summary: Germany and Italy's weekend together is interrupted when Italy has an unexpected emergency to deal with, leaving Germany to spend the day alone.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Ardent

Germany didn’t like to sleep in, not even on holiday, and he needed no alarm to wake up at six in the morning, sharp. The sun was already up, and he spent a moment looking at the sliver of the sky he could see peeking through the crack of the half-open window. He listened to the sounds of people and traffic in the city outside. Everything seemed distant since the house they were staying in stood at the end of an alley too narrow for cars.

He felt a little lost as he got up and sat on the edge of the bed, looking around in the room. The floor tiles were smooth and cool under his feet. There was a wooden desk and a closet that he suspected were older than him, both sturdy despite showing the wear of the years. The walls were painted white, except for a couple of spots where the darker mortar was visible. It didn’t look shabby but deliberate and stylish; Italy had an eye for that kind of a thing. Had it been Germany’s room, he’d have made sure every nook and cranny was covered in even colour.

Germany ran a hand through his hair. He could have stayed in bed. Their plans were postponed, and he had no idea what to do with himself all day in a city he didn’t know.

No, that wouldn’t do. He allowed himself only a brief moment with that childish thought before he got up and walked to the kitchen. Italy had left a note on the fridge with the words, “Good morning, Germany! Have whatever you want for breakfast! I got all the gross stuff you like, just for you!”

He made a sandwich and sat down at the table to wait for his coffee to get ready. There was a small radio on the shelf, and Germany turned it on despite his Italian still being a little shaky after all these years. The house didn’t feel right without some happy chatter.

The previous evening, he’d come to Italy’s house to spend the weekend with him. They’d planned it for a long time. Or rather, Germany had. His schedule was so full these days that finding a few consecutive days when he could do nothing without work piling up too much was a challenge. Italy, on the other hand, had just laughed and said Germany could come over any time. He’d make time for him. Everything else could wait.

It was therefore beyond ironic that as soon as Italy had let him into this small house in Verona and leaned in to get a kiss, his phone had started ringing and ruined the mood. Something was going on in Venice, and from the look on Italy’s face and the sulky tone of his voice as he spoke on the phone, Germany had been able to guess it was too important to ignore.

“Germany, I’m really, really sorry, but I have to go!” Italy had said, a hint of despair in his eyes. Germany hadn’t been able to tell if it was because of the problem in Venice, or the fact that their time together had ended before it had even started.

“It’s fine. Work is important,” he’d replied. He’d meant it with all his heart, even felt a little proud as Italy had scurried around the house showing him where everything was and making sure he had all that he needed. He’d be back as soon as possible, he’d said, hopefully in time to see Germany again before he had to go home.

It was then that Germany had suggested he could come with him. Venice was a beautiful city, and if he stayed in the house Italy had there, surely they’d be able to steal a few moments for themselves. The nights, at least, he’d mumbled, unable to look straight at him. But Italy had shot down that idea. Venice wasn’t the same anymore. There were almost more tourists than permanent residents. On some days, it didn’t quite feel like his city anymore.

“I want you to wait for me here,” Italy had said, uncharacteristically serious. “And besides, I’m going by car, and I can’t listen to you complain about traffic rules the whole time.”

Germany had spent the first night alone, listening to the silence of an unfamiliar house. It wasn’t a long way to Venice, so there was a chance Italy would be back for the next. He’d made Germany promise he wouldn’t have dinner at his usual early hour because Italy wanted to cook for him, and he’d do everything in his power to return in time.

That left Germany alone in Verona for the whole day. He took his time with his breakfast and tried to be positive about his situation. It wasn’t all that different from how he’d used to tour Italy by himself all those years ago to marvel at its culture, architecture, and history. They had planned that Italy would show him around, but he had still taken a guidebook with him, scribbled in the margins and marked all the important pages with colourful post-it notes. It was a habit that the other nations were always teasing him about, but he didn’t feel comfortable if he didn’t have some framework to fall back on in case something went wrong. 

He returned to the bedroom after tidying up in the kitchen and opened the window properly so he could sit by it and look outside. The house was facing west, so the alley and the lower buildings next door were cast in a shadow. Germany watched the people, some on their way to work and others wandering around to see the sights. Somehow, he could tell which were Italy’s people and which just visiting, even if they weren’t his.

He could think of only one good thing about Italy being called away unexpectedly. One of his post-it notes marked the page of a place he was especially looking forward to visiting, but it would have been embarrassing to go there with Italy. Germany knew that Juliet’s House was that in name only and that the story was complete fiction. The famous balcony was a tourist trap in every sense of the word, and yet he yearned to see it. While it had faded with age and experience, there was still a part of him that appreciated the kind of desperate passion only found in works like Romeo and Juliet, or The Sorrows of Young Werther.

He doubled-checked the map in his guidebook and looked up the right addresses on his phone before getting dressed and heading out. It was going to be a hot day, and he wanted to make good use of the cooler morning hours before stopping for lunch.

Germany had worried that he might feel self-conscious about visiting Juliet’s House, but once he got there, he realized he was far from the only one who wanted to see it. The courtyard below the balcony was packed with people, and though he would have liked a closer look, he didn’t want to push his way through the crowd. He was a head taller than most others, so at least he had a clear view.

When he’d been young, Prussia had made him read books on military theory, history, geography, law, everything that he needed to know as a nation. They’d stayed up late into the night discussing them. Germany had seen his brother with a philosophy or poetry book sometimes, but they hadn’t talked about those, and Prussia hadn’t ever given him any recommendations. Any time Germany had asked, he’d dismissed them as something he didn’t need and changed the subject.

It had made Germany think it was supposed to be a secret that he enjoyed fiction - fairy tales and romance, even. He’d read books like that by himself and never told Prussia about it. He still remembered shivering with emotion that had made it feel like his body wasn’t growing fast enough to keep up with his heart. Perhaps some things would have been easier for him if he’d had someone to show him how to open up, but looking back, he wouldn’t change anything about how Prussia had raised him.

He gazed up at the balcony. There had been a time when he’d been sure all he could have with Italy was the hopeless longing he’d idolized in his youth. Italy got along with everyone, and everyone liked him. He was straightforward about what he wanted and became bored quickly if he didn’t get it. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, nor understanding the implications of what someone didn’t put into words.

Something that Germany had heard many times over drinks after some conference was that nobody had been surprised when he and Italy had gotten together - everyone assumed Italy had made the first move just to have some fun - but that they considered it a miracle they hadn’t broken up - they’d thought Italy would grow tired of Germany soon. He might have thought the same thing all those years ago when he only knew the kind of romance that was in books, but not anymore. He liked the unpredictable element that Italy brought to his life and how he made him want to step out of his comfort zone.

Germany had lunch at Piazza delle Erbe. He managed to order his spinach ravioli in Italian without stumbling over his words even though he couldn’t remember when he’d last had to do so. Italy always ordered for him when they went out, out of habit rather than necessity, and Germany didn’t want to look bratty by telling him he didn’t need to.

He spent the rest of the day visiting all the sites on his list that were within a walking distance. There were tourists everywhere, and he didn’t particularly stand out among them. It was relaxing to just be part of the crowd, exchange a few pleasantries with his people when he ran into them, and take his time browsing the junk in all the souvenir shops. He got Prussia a generous bag of candy and a cute fridge magnet as thanks for looking after the dogs for the weekend. 

In the afternoon, he was starting to feel dizzy from being in the sun all day, so he sought shade on a bench in a small square. He spent some time drinking water and watching the buzz around him. He opened the first button on his shirt and fanned himself with his hat. It was a gift from Italy, pushed into his hands some twenty years ago. Germany had thought it was a romantic gesture that he’d kept it for so long and made sure it didn’t get frayed or unkempt, but Prussia had made an off-hand comment about him taking his “new” hat with him on his trip. He supposed that to nations like Prussia and Italy, a couple of decades felt like nothing.

Germany couldn’t sympathize at all right now. Knowing that he still had hours ahead of him before he’d know if Italy would come back for the night was agonizing. It was their only night for the foreseeable future, and Germany didn’t want to spend it alone in a house where everything reminded him of Italy. He didn’t want to wait until they got another chance.

The sun was beginning to set when he decided it was time for him to return to the house. It was a little cooler, and though there were just as many people out as before, their voices sounded louder in the orange-hued evening and deepening shadows. Most of them were on their way home or to their hotels or hanging out in small groups. Their laughter made Germany’s heart throb.

He hadn’t sent Italy a single message all day, not wanting to bother him when he was working. Now, in a fit of need, he pulled out his phone and wrote him to ask if he knew when he’d be back. If they could at least have breakfast together before Germany’s flight the following day, that’d be -

Bzz! His phone vibrated with a call before he had the time to slip it back into his pocket.

“Hey, Germany! I’m almost back! We finished early.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought I’d surprise you. Where are you right now?”

“On a square close to the river. There’s a statue of Garibaldi.”

“Okay, stay there and wait for me. It won’t be long. Bye!“

“Wait, I -”

But Italy had already ended the call. Germany let out a sigh through his nose and put his hat back on his head. When Italy said it wouldn’t take long, there was no telling if he’d be there in five minutes or an hour. It shouldn’t have been a problem. Germany had nowhere else to be. And yet learning that Italy was coming back but not knowing exactly _when_ was making him restless in a way that threatened to trap his breath in his throat.

He wanted to see Italy right now. All the trains could be late for the rest of his existence if he could have him now.

It seemed like forever until he felt the atmosphere shift. The local people who’d been minding their own business until then turned to look as well, as if they’d just faintly heard their name being called out. Italy was heading down one of the gravel paths leading to the statue, and Germany was on his feet and taking hurried steps to greet him before he’d even realized it.

“Italy,” he said and stopped just a few strides short of him. Italy was dazzling. The golden sun of the evening was playing in his hair, and his smile was bright as if the day wasn’t nearly over. He was wearing a white dress shirt and had his jacket draped over one arm. His tie was crooked like he’d been pulling at it, and normally the sight of it would have annoyed Germany, but now he wanted to see it come off entirely.

“Hey, Germany! Did you have a nice day?”

“It was all right.”

Italy pouted at him. “Just all right? Even though you’re in one of my most beautiful cities?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the city. It’s amazing. But… It’s just that...”

“But what?”

In the past, Germany might have thought Italy’s confused frown was real, but he’d long since learned he was good at looking innocent and getting the reactions he wanted out of others that way. Trying to hide the embarrassment that he really shouldn’t have been feeling after this many years, he fled into the comfort of a familiar habit and stepped forward to straighten Italy’s seductive tie.

“I would have enjoyed it more if you’d been with me,” he said quietly.

“Of course you would have. There’s no other guide who’s been walking these streets for centuries and knows all the best stories.”

Germany let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Italy said, and his face brightened with another smile. “I just wanted to see if I could get you to say you love me.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. Just say it. I can do it first. I love you soooo much, Germany. Try it!”

“Later,” Germany said. It wasn’t like he was incapable of it. It was just hard for him to be as generous with affection as Italy. He didn’t mind Italy teasing him about it. Italy knew him and how much he loved him even without him repeating it all the time. In the beginning of their relationship, Germany had worried he wouldn’t, and he’d tried to mimic Italy’s openness. A few days of that, and then Italy had pleaded with him to stop.

“Should we head back to the house? There’s still time to cook dinner at home,” Italy said.

Germany agreed, but he made sure their pace was slow and not the near-militaristic advance he moved with when he was alone. He wanted to enjoy the atmosphere of the city for as long as he could with Italy by his side and see him bask in its life. Italy could be a handful when they met elsewhere, but on his own land it was as if he pulled Germany into his arms and made him see the world his way.

They talked about what they’d been up to all day. Germany didn’t mention that he’d gone to see Juliet’s House, but Italy guessed it anyway and said it was just the kind of thing he’d be into. It turned out Italy’s business in Venice had concerned some cruise ship company and their attempts to buy special permission for their ships to get closer to the city.

“I’ve been dealing with that kind of a thing since I was a kid,” Italy said with a huff. “You’d think it wouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“People never change,” Germany said.

“Don’t say that. It makes you sound old.”

“I’ve watched enough generations live and die by now that I think I can say it.”

It was getting dark by the time they arrived at Italy’s house. They climbed up the stairs to the highest floor where his apartment was, and Germany was surprised by how happy he was to be back inside. In the morning, the apartment had felt a little bleak, like a hotel room, but now it was as if they had come home.

“Are you sure you feel like cooking? You’ve been working all day. We could go to a restaurant,” he said.

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine. I can make something quick and easy.”

“All right. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“No.” Italy gave Germany a shove towards the kitchen table and made him take a seat. “You’re my guest. I want to cook for you.”

There was no point in arguing with Italy about food. Germany decided he’d do the dishes after dinner when Italy was mellow and happy. For now, he enjoyed watching him move around the kitchen with ease, never having to stop to think where anything was or what he should do next. It didn’t take him long to have sauce bubbling on the stove or to finish cutting up zucchini for a side dish.

“There,” he said when all that was left to do was wait for the pasta to be cooked. “I told you it’d be simple.”

“It’d have taken me twice as long to do the same.”

“That’s because you double-check every part of the recipe, even when you know it by heart. You have to cook with more feeling, Germany.” Italy came over to sit at the table as well, but before that he turned his chair around so he could lean his arms and chin on the backrest and watch Germany.

“What is it?” Germany asked.

“Can you guess what feeling I put into that food?”

Of course he could. It was the same emotion that had been simmering inside Germany all day as he’d thought of Italy and how much he wished he’d come back soon. Despite being near-immortal, they had so little time they could just be like this. Something always came between them, and they were expected to put it first. Germany wasn’t quite foolish enough to be jealous of humans whose lives were abruptly short but belonged entirely to them, but almost.

He rose from his chair and took a step to close the distance between him and Italy. He was so much taller when Italy was still seated, so he had to bend down to kiss him, even when Italy craned his neck in expectation. Germany always felt a little silly when he was the one to make the first move. It was something that came so casually to Italy - he kissed him in bed to say good morning, when they were getting dressed, when they were walking side by side in the street. Germany needed so much time and preparation for something so simple that his efforts felt clumsy to him, but Italy was always happy and receptive.

“I’ll say it now,” he muttered when they broke apart.

Italy let out an amused laugh. “It kind of kills the mood if you announce it ahead of time like that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I.. I love y-.”

His fumbled words were cut off when Italy caught his face between his hands and pulled him down into another kiss. His eagerness and warmth sent a gentle jolt down Germany’s spine. He wished there was no chair between them because it was hard to put his hands where he wanted them on Italy’s body.

“You don’t have to say it, silly. I know just by looking at you.”

Germany had to smile at that. He was often told that he came across as aggressive and set in his ways, whereas Italy was considered an airhead by the rest of the world. That they’d be so comfortable around each other shouldn’t be possible, and yet it was like nothing could be more right.

“Oh! I think the pasta is ready,” Italy said and slipped away from Germany’s hold to move it from the stove. His attention was all on the food again, as if they hadn’t been in the middle of a tender exchange. But that was fine. They could pick it up again. For the time being, Germany was happy with the certainty that he and Italy had this moment all to themselves.


End file.
